


Hiatus

by mazily



Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 13:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: Both of their glasses are empty, and it's far too early to call it a night.
Relationships: Bel Rowley/Lix Storm
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	Hiatus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shopfront](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/gifts).

"I hate this," Bel says. 

Lix's finger twitches. For want of a pad and pencil, for want of a cigarette, for want of the new bottle of whiskey languishing in her desk drawer. Two weeks of enforced vacation. Two weeks of Bel complaining about—

"We're missing out on too much. Just last night—"

"Yes, Darling," Lix says. She pats the back of Bel's hand where it rests on the table, stops her fingers from their incessant _ tap-tap-tap _. "The world does insist on continuing to turn, no matter what we mere mortals are up to. We'll miss plenty of stories while we're off the air, and then we'll report even more once we're back up and running again."

—everything but the truth. She misses Freddie. She's angry. She's frustrated. She feels guilty about the way everything imploded, worried about The Hour, confused about her feelings. But most of all, she misses Freddie. (They all do, of course, Lix included, but Bel's the only one of them in love with him, and Lix does try to be understanding of Bel's foibles. They're typically so endearing.) 

Bel pouts. It's delightfully adorable, and Lix snorts. Tries to hold in her laughter and fails spectacularly, suddenly half-hysterical. 

"It's not funny, Lix," Bel says.

Lix runs her middle finger along the length of Bel's before moving her hand away. "No, of course not," she says. Both of their glasses are empty, and it's far too early to go home. "Shall I order us another round then?"

"I don't," Bel starts. She looks over at the bartender and then tenses. Turns too quickly back in Lix's direction, shoulders high and posture unnatural. A group of loud men in suits laugh as they order; Lix squints, and one of them looks just familiar enough to make the entire evening uncomfortable. She thinks she's seen him lurking around the office. He shifts. Leans almost imperceptibly in their direction, feet shifting like he's about to start to walk in their direction. 

"Or we can go back to yours," Lix says. 

"Maybe we ought to just," Bel says, but she's already gathering her things. "Oh, why not. I think I even have a full bottle of vodka."

"Lovely." Lix wraps her scarf around her neck. Stands and buttons her coat. "I'd have offered my own flat, of course," she adds, suddenly curious whether Bel noticed that she hadn't. "But—"

"—we're banned from the office for another fortnight," Bel finishes. She pushes past Lix, leaving behind the smell of whiskey and cigarettes and something floral. Lix picks up her purse and follows. Into the street, into the night, into a car and across London.

"I warn you," Bel says, once they're standing in the corridor outside her door. She struggles with the key. "It's not much."

Bel's flat is very unlike Lix's. For one thing, she appears to actually spend time in it, and there's no echo of dust lurking in the air. She even has food, nestled next to the vodka Bel makes a beeline for the moment they're through the front door. 

"It's lovely," Lix says, meaning it, as she unwraps her scarf. 

Bel pulls out the bottle and hands it to Lix before turning away to open the cupboard; it's cold, still unopened, and Lix struggles momentarily with the cap. Finally unscrews it—"success!"—just as Bel slides two glasses across the table. She pours. 

"No, really," Lix continues. "I'm very impressed. This flat is practically a proper home."

"Lix," Bel says, in that particular combination of disappointment, amusement, and judgment that only Bel Rowley can manage. Lix almost smiles; tells herself she is far too sober to allow herself to enjoy it. Neither of them has had nearly enough to drink.

"What?" Lix takes a long swallow before topping off her drink, handing the bottle back to Bel. She carries her glass over to the sofa and chairs Bel has arranged around a table. Places the glass down and pulls her scarf the rest of the way off. Stuffs it into her coat pocket. "I'm much older than you, and I've never managed one of those"

"You try growing up with my mother," Bel says, "And you'd keep a proper home too."

Lix shrugs. She removes her coat and drops it over the back of a chair. Sits down and watches Bel settle herself on the sofa. There's a single cigarette butt, rimmed with red, in the ashtray on the table between them. Lix rummages through her bag for her cigarette case, suddenly desperate for a smoke. 

"Could I have one?" Bel asks. "I'm not sure where I put mine."

Lix opens the case, and looks inside. "Damn." She pulls out a cigarette. "Last one," she explains, before lighting it. Inhaling. Handing the cigarette to Bel. "We'll have to share."

They pass the cigarette back and forth across the table in careful silence, Lix's lipstick blending with Bel's on the paper to form an entirely new shade of red. Bel looks comfortable, sat on her own sofa, and thoughtful. The glow of the cigarette does wonderful things to her cheekbones.

"I wonder," Bel says.

"No." Lix plucks the cigarette from between Bel's fingers. Takes a long drag before passing it back. This time their fingers touch. There's a spark of something: static electricity, or maybe it's just the vodka.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Bel says. "You can't say no without—"

Lix holds up a finger. "One, you wonder what our dear young Freddie is up to; two, where he is, at this precise moment in time; three, whether Parliament's going to pick up the—"

"Four, what you would do were I to kiss you," Bel offers. She passes the cigarette back to Lix. 

"Were you to," Lix repeats. She takes a final drag and stubs it out in the ashtray. Runs the conversation back in her head, and again when Bel's words continue to refuse to slot into place.

Bel stands. Her hands clench, grab at the fabric of her skirt, twist. 

"Kiss me." Lix lifts her glass and finishes the vodka in one swallow. 

"Or I could call a taxi for you," Bel says, fluttering around the flat, fingers reaching out for something to tidy and not landing on anything solid. "It is getting rather late; I'm sure you'd like to—"

Lix stands. "You're sure I," she says. There's a reason she doesn't talk about these things; have a drink, a snog, a fuck, and agree to ignore it all the morning after. Send them off with a quip about breakfast and a pat on the arse. Anything else is a recipe for regret and pain. 

"—go home and read," Bel says. "Or you could kip on my sofa if you—"

Lix has to lean down to kiss her, to press her mouth against Bel's teasing smile and stop her talking. Bel wobbles before surging up to meet Lix. To kiss back. Lix's neck twinges just enough to prove it's all real.


End file.
